


Out of Left Field

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never sees it coming...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Left Field

One second Sam was talking a mile a minute—jabbering on about the difference between zombies and revenants, near as Dean could figure—and the next he’d gone completely, startlingly quiet. Dean swallowed the chunk of hamburger he’d been chewing and tore his eyes off their waitress’ grade A ass to glance at his brother. He was worried that it had finally happened—that Sam’s brain had finally overloaded from all the crap he’d stuffed into it—but his brother's eyes were as sharp as ever. Sharper than usual, in fact: his gaze was narrowed and focused on Dean’s mouth like he’d suddenly grown fangs or something.

“Hey,” Dean said, snapping his fingers in front of his brother’s face. “Earth to Sam.”

Sam frowned thoughtfully, but he kept right on staring.

Starting to raise his hand to brush away whatever was bothering his brother, Dean muttered, “I got something on my—”

 _Face,_ he was going to say, but then Sam lunged forward over the table, fisted his hand in the collar of Dean’s shirt, and yanked their mouths together. Dean stared over his brother’s shoulder with wide eyes, his heart thudding painfully in his throat and his stomach dropped somewhere down around the earth’s core. His brain seemed to have frozen ten seconds back, and he certainly wasn’t feeling what Sam was doing with his—oh _god_ —tongue. Or his mouth. Really not feeling the way that Sam was sucking at his lips like he was a hot fudge sundae with a cherry on top.

Dean’s eyes finally slid shut when he felt Sam drop his shirt and grab his face with both hands, thumbs working slow and deep across his cheekbones. He was gripping the table with his own hands because he wasn’t sure if he was going to punch his brother or pull him in closer. And the fact that he couldn’t figure _that_ one out meant that he was seriously fucked.

 _Don’t you go there, Winchester. Don’t you fucking dare._

Dean felt a little dizzy when his brother finally let him go, and he gave himself a few moments of pure, non-Sam-scented air before opening his eyes. Of course, he lost his breath all over again when he caught sight of his brother was lounging back in his seat with a lazy, self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Dean gathered his wits together to shout at Sam—his _brother_ , for christssakes, and Sam wasn’t even _gay_ , and Dean sure as hell didn’t swing that way either, so what the _fuck_?—and then he realized that they were sitting in the middle of a crowded diner. A few people were casting glances in their direction as it was _(Midwich, Ohio wasn’t Palo Alto, where the crap that Sam had just pulled would have gone mostly unnoticed)_ and Henricksen had a nation-wide manhunt looking for them. If Dean caused a scene now, then they could very quickly be in deep shit—especially if he said half of the crap he was thinking.

Sam, the smug bastard, had set him up.

Dean felt his face go stiff as he realized that his brother had effectively muzzled him.

Across the table, Sam’s grin widened. “You had some ketchup,” he offered.

Dean’s mouth worked for a few seconds before he managed, in a choked voice, “You couldn’t just say something? You had to—” He flapped his hand between them, unable to make himself say it.

“Apparently,” Sam said, shrugging, and reached over and stole one of Dean’s fries. He tossed it into his mouth while Dean gaped at him, and then slid his leg forward between Dean’s.

Dean went still, and his grip tightened on the table. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he growled.

“No, you aren’t,” Sam returned blandly. He stole another fry and rubbed his knee along the inside of Dean’s thigh. “You’re gonna finish your burger and then we’re gonna go back to the room.”

Dean uttered what was supposed to come out as a scornful laugh. Probably would have sounded better if he hadn’t been distracted by the fact that his dick refused to sit down and shut up.

“Like hell we are.”

Ignoring him, Sam continued in a low voice, “And then I’m gonna get you out of those clothes and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

Oh hell no. Absolutely not. Except that Dean’s dick was saying hell _yes_ , and he wasn’t kicking Sam’s leg away, or even arguing. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, it was getting harder and harder to work himself up into a proper freak out.

Which was probably what his brother had been going for all along.

Sam leaned across the table again. He moved slower this time, giving Dean a chance to dodge, or to shove him back. Dean sat there and stared at his brother’s mouth. He watched the flecks of darker, forest green materialize in Sam’s eyes. Then Sam pressed their lips together in a tentative kiss that Dean couldn’t quite keep himself from deepening. When his brother sat back a few minutes later, he was radiating contentment and his smile bright enough that Dean couldn’t really see much of anything else.

“Tell you what, man,” Sam said, glancing at his watch. “You hurry up and finish your burger in less than five minutes and I’ll even give you a blowjob first.”

Dean almost choked twice, but he managed to get them out of there in less than three.


End file.
